


Burn

by HiMiTSu



Series: Home of Shadows [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Dark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Past Abuse, Mob AU, Mob Boss Percival Graves, Romance, Sex, Violence, talk about violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9500117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiMiTSu/pseuds/HiMiTSu
Summary: “You are beautiful,” Mr. Graves had said and, even though Credence trusted him unconditionally, he did not believe it. How could he? How could someone like Mr. Graves find him appealing?Set right after Out In The Light.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am sooooo not sure about this story...I'm trying out new things, trying to write some more explicit scenes, but I'm not particularly happy with the result. I debated deleting half of it but in the end decided to post as it is. Please excuse all the pseudo-medical stuff. It all pretty vague so as to seem believable.
> 
> I still hope you can enjoy the story though!:)

“You are beautiful,” Mr. Graves had said and, even though Credence trusted him unconditionally, he did not believe it. How could he? How could someone like Mr. Graves find him appealing?

Credence had always been scrawny and sickly; kids had taunted him and made fun of his lank hair and his gaunt features. Mary Lou Barebone, when she took him in, never bothered to tell him otherwise. Credence grew up and the kids, it were different kids then - new people at the church every year, still threw insults at him. But it was only worse when he escaped the cold stones of his home. People in the streets sent him disgusted glances and stayed away; only a couple of times did he encounter true kindness in New York.

He grew up with a solid belief that he was not, what people called, attractive. Modesty rolled her eyes when he once asked what she thought, he knew she didn’t mean it as an offence but he also had no idea what she was trying to say. It was hard, understanding Modesty. She was confident and strong and shrewd for her age; they connected, as two people thrown into a difficult situation together, but no more than that. Still, Credence loved her.

He was better now; confidence had been building in his chest for months. Every time Mr. Graves said a nice word or assured Credence that he was welcome at the mansion. Every time Mr. Stradford asked for his opinion on a house matter or simply discussed with him some day-to-day business. His thoughts mattered. A confidence blossomed in his ribcage, right near his fluttering heart, and allowed him to become stronger.

Mr. Stradford had once mentioned that he considered Credence to be ‘an attractive young man’. He said it in the context of advising Credence on his fashion choices, strangely adamant that Credence would benefit from wearing more tight-fitting clothes. Mr. Graves would appreciate, said the elder man with a sly smirk. Credence didn’t understand it then; he might had more of an idea now.

Mr. Graves had kissed him. More accurately, Credence had kissed Mr. Graves, but the other man _wanted_ it. _Responded._

Credence could still feel the fire that rushed through his veins when their lips touched. It was magic.

But then Mr. Graves had to leave and after that…nothing.

Credence had not seen him that evening; it seemed the problem was more complicated than originally expected, and so he did not show up for dinner and even by nightfall there was no sign of him at the mansion. A little bout of paranoia had whispered to Credence that Mr. Graves was avoiding him. Regretted what had transpired between them and was coming up with a way to disregard it completely. To disregard Credence. But a more sensible part of him beat those thoughts into the dust. His trust in Mr. Graves was unwavering and the man would not be cowardly. If he regretted the kiss he would say so outright.

Credence had loitered in the corridor between their rooms for a long moment, unsure if he would be welcome in Mr. Graves’s bed; at the end, the unease won and he retreated into his own. He lay there for hours waiting for Mr. Graves to return. Just as the dawn was slowly taking over the world and first rays of the morning sun chased away the shadows of the room did he hear the steps outside. He allowed himself to drift off to sleep after that.

Mr. Graves did not show up at breakfast the next morning, which wasn’t unreasonable, considering how late he had arrived. He hung around during lunch and Credence was hoping they would get a chance to at least talk, but the man was whisked away by business once again. They lingered on the porch together but neither could come up with anything to say. Credence wrung his hands, trying to give himself one little push to say something, do something…But he could only watch as Mr. Graves gave a weak smile before ducking into the car. Credence followed the vehicle with his eyes as it drove off and  felt like his window of opportunity was closing.

Almost a week passed like that, Credence gathering his courage to approach Mr. Graves and every time taking too long about it – by the time he was ready Mr. Graves would get a call from his NYPD contact and rush away to deal with the new issue. It seemed drastic measures were in order, but Credence had never resorted to anything high-risk. He thought about it carefully, spent the Friday cooped up in the room, considering. The evening rolled around, sky darkened behind his window but he was no closer to making a decision. It would be so easy, to come up to Mr. Graves, put his hands around his shoulders and press a kiss to his lips, wouldn’t it? Still to Credence, it seemed like the most difficult task of all. He wanted it badly, driven crazy by his desire for this man, and still crippled by anxiety and worry.

And then the decision was taken out of his hands.

He heard a commotion first, downstairs. Credence glanced out the window to see two cars in the driveway instead of the usual one; their headlights were on and doors carelessly left open. He crossed the room, prompted by sudden apprehension. He didn’t yet understand what had brought on the feeling, but it flooded his veins with cold and he rushed down the stairs. Something was wrong.

The front doors stood wide open but there was no one in the hall. He shivered in the draft brought from the outside and wrapped his hands around his middle. The trepidation grew and spread along with the cold. Voices carried from the main parlor, urgent tones and hushed angry words. He could see from the doorway people milling about the room in agitation, a couple of Mr. Graves’s men stood aside, their expressions pinched. As he neared, slow with the oncoming fear, he noticed that James was around too, pacing in the far end of the room, his hand crunching up a packet of smokes. Stradford was there, his voice loud and clear over the turmoil. He was giving orders and tending to someone sprawled on the sofa at the same time.

Mr. Graves.

As soon as Credence noticed his face, skin pale and features twisted in a grimace, he stepped inside hastily and crossed over to the sofa. Bert tried to hold him back, muttering a hushed, “Might be better to stay away, Mr. Credence.” But he didn’t resist when his hands were swept aside to let Credence pass.

With a soft gasp he dropped to his knees before the sofa. Mr. Graves’s eyes, half-lidded, found his immediately. They were full of pain. Credence reached out, seeking his hand, swallowing down heavily when Mr. Graves clasped his fingers tightly.

“The doctor will be here soon.” Bert said. He sounded exhausted.

Credence nodded distractedly. He didn’t want to avert his eyes, hoping to give Mr. Graves strength through sheer force of will, but he needed to see. He dropped his gaze. There was blood staining the white shirt. A lot of it. More kept gushing from a hole in Mr. Graves’s shoulder. Dark, it flowed from under Mr. Stradford’s fingers where the old man was applying pressure on the wound in an attempt to reduce the bleeding. He was calm – he was always calm under pressure – but the downturn of his lips spoke more than any shouting could. Credence couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blood.

Mr. Graves’s hand squeezed his again and he raised their entwined fingers to press under Credence’s chin. Credence followed the movement, lifting his head and fixing his eyes back on Mr. Graves’s face instead. He felt tears burn at the corner of his eye, their treacherous acid burn, but bit back a pathetic whine that wanted to tear from his throat. He would be strong.

“It will be fine,” Mr. Graves promised and rubbed his thumb on Credence’s lower lip. He tugged on their clasped hands weakly but Credence shook his head determinedly.

“I will kiss you when you are not bleeding out to death.” He promised in a hot whisper so the others would not hear.

Mr. Stradford did, however, closest to them, and snorted in amusement. “Good incentive.” He muttered under his breath. And then he was back to business. “Someone bring me clean cloth and water. From the kitchen.”

James hurried away, happy to get any task.

“And, Tony, go wait on the porch.” The man closest to the door nodded and left; it wasn’t more than five minutes when he returned with a doctor in tow.

Credence clung to Mr. Graves’s hand, as much a reassurance to him as a support for Mr. Graves. He was jittery with nerves and wanted so badly to just put his head on Mr. Graves’s knee and leach off his calm to make the worry go away. But he was scared to make any other contact, anxious that he might do more harm.

“You should have come to my clinic.” The doctor grumbled but settled near the patient when Stradford stepped back to give him some space. Credence didn’t move.

“We were reluctant to move him.” Mr. Stradford admitted.

The doctor grunted in reply and peeled away soaked fabric to get a better look. “Well, this is not too bad,” he commented. “Here.” Without a warning he struck a needle in Mr. Graves’s shoulder.

Credence’s fingers had gone numb for a second as Mr. Graves grunted from unexpected onslaught of pain but the grip turned softer after that. Painkillers were supposed to work fast, but his pulse beat rapidly at the wrist and his face was one terrible grimace. Credence clasped Mr. Graves’s hand in both of his and pressed them to his heart. His own mind was turmoil of anguish but he kept it together for the sake of Mr. Graves. It was his turn to be strong now. Even though Mr. Graves would never willingly show a sign of weakness, pained grunts escaped him now and then, as the doctor started working on the wound.

It took a long time, ages if one asked Credence, but soon the shoulder was cleaned, stitched, and dressed properly. Credence’s leg fell asleep from his uncomfortable position on the floor but he refused to move until the operation was over. Finally the doctor had pulled away proclaiming that he was done. He departed, leaving final instructions and some more grumblings about the bad working conditions. Tony took care of the pay off and escorted the man out.

Mr. Graves sat on the sofa for a long while, finally relaxed with no pain muddling his thoughts. Credence watched him, inspecting his features closely for signs of discomfort, but it seemed the painkillers were working just fine.

“I believe your services are no longer needed for the night,” Mr. Stradford had announced to the room at large. Conflicted, the three men shared glances. Mr. Graves waved them away without opening his eyes.

“There is nothing for you here,” he said, voice low and tired. “Go home. Get some sleep.”

Finally, they left and Credence and Mr. Stradford helped Mr. Graves relocate to the bedroom. The man insisted on changing, resolutely saying he had enough strength to undress himself, but after he fell into the bed heavily and refused to move.

“If anything happens, you know where to find me.” Mr. Stradford addressed Credence. It seemed like a decided thing that Credence would stay there for the night. “Otherwise, I’ll check in in the morning.”

Credence watched Mr. Graves doze away, covers thrown haphazardly over his body. As he heard the door close, he fished out some nightclothes from a drawer and slid into bed. He was mindful not to hurt the other man accidentally, laying on the very edge, but Mr. Graves peeled his eyes open for a moment and dragged him closer. It was a weak tug by the hand, easy to throw off if one was inclined to. Credence smiled fondly and slotted himself to Mr. Graves’s side, hand winding carefully over the man’s waist.

He barely slept that night; spent most of the time listening to Mr. Graves breathe. The pads of his fingers traced the man’s heated skin gently, feather light touches that he couldn’t quite help. They stumbled upon a scar near the hipbone and another just on Mr. Graves’s wrist – he had no idea about those. He felt silly now, never having considered that Mr. Graves might get hurt in his line of work. Of course, the life of crime was dangerous but Mr. Graves…he was so much more than just a man to Credence. He was larger than life. Invincible. Untouchable. He appeared, like a force of nature, whenever Credence needed his help, always stronger than anyone in his way. And now, reminded so harshly of his mortality, it was hard to let go of the fear.

Credence pressed his forehead to Mr. Graves’s shoulder, hugging him as tight as he dared. He would not let this go. Dread covered his skin like a cold shiver but Credence focused on another emotion. Rage curled like a black shadow around his heart – the feeling terrifyingly familiar. He would not let those he loved get hurt. It was a type of madness, clouding his thoughts but it had no outlet this time. No one to blame, no one to lash out at.

Only Mr. Graves by his side. Only a way out for the love and protectiveness.

Credence stared at his profile, calm in sleep, for a long time. In the end, he stretched out to press a soft kiss to his cheek and tried to fall asleep. It wasn’t so difficult after that.

 

* * *

 

 The morning came late for them as Mr. Graves needed sleep to recuperate and Credence had only fallen asleep at dawn. The room was bathed in golden light of the summer sun since no one bothered to close the blinds, and a soft breeze invaded through half-open window. It was surprisingly pleasant after a night of hell.

Credence dragged himself out of bed and prevented any attempt of Mr. Graves to follow. He had promised to return with breakfast so that was mollifying. Downstairs Mr. Stradford was already waiting with the doctor. His glance was full of reproach for oversleeping but he offered Credence a full tray to take up to the room. He also mercifully did not comment of Credence attire – a shirt that once belonged to Mr. Graves and not much more.

However the doctor went first, to make sure the wound had started healing and redress the injury. He left some more instructions, bed rest mostly and some meds, and bid them goodbye. Credence rushed upstairs as soon as the man was out the door.

Breakfast was an awkward affair; even though the non-dominant shoulder was hit, every move pulled at the injury and made Mr. Graves wince with pain quite often.

“It is not the pain that bothers me,” Mr. Graves insisted. “It’s just inconvenience of it all.”

Credence nodded and didn’t reply. Seemed like Mr. Graves was worried about his dignity in this situation, but it only made Credence more fond. And more determined to help him out. True, feeding the man with a spoon might have been excessive, but helping him out with a bite of fruit occasionally seemed acceptable. The mood was light and neither wanted to spoil it with conversation.

Still, worry clouded his mood every time Credence looked at him. It wasn’t the worst Mr. Graves had had, but it was still a serious injury. One that might have gotten him killed. Credence despaired at the very thought of losing this man.

“No need to look so gloomy,” Mr. Graves commented once he had noticed Credence’s state.

“I’m sorry.” The apology sprung to his lips automatically – a force of habit. “This is…new. And difficult.”

“I know.”

Mr. Graves reclined against the pillows – a picture of unconcern. Credence fidgeted and shifted until he could face the other man. His hands balled into fists over his bare knees. He couldn’t lift his eyes, staring at the bed sheets helplessly. “You could have died.”

“I didn’t. That’s all that matters.” The reply was so calm, so assured, Credence couldn’t help but give in. A thought still nagged at the back of his mind, but it was silenced by Mr. Graves’s resolve. It turned into a soft hum when he felt hands on his face, lifting it up and bringing forward; it disappeared completely when Mr. Graves’s lips touched his.

 

* * *

 

What was curse at the beginning turned into a small blessing after all. Mr. Graves stayed at the house all the time, mostly cooped up with Credence in the bedroom. He was not up to his full strength and so allowed Credence to dote on him. Unexpected and sweet, it turned into a sort of a domestic routine that consisted mostly of them taking meals together in Mr. Graves’s rooms and retiring to bed to watch movies and read. Turned out, Credence could enjoy the TV, at least when Mr. Graves was by his side. If even that got boring they would go out for a walk; weather was pleasant if a little too hot during the day. They never left the mansion grounds and once again, Credence knew he didn’t need the outside world – he had everything he ever wanted just here, within his reach. And he was feeling bold enough to take it.

 

* * *

 

“This looks better,” Credence commented as he peeled the bandage away. The wound had healed well, only leaving a small scar – a patch of risen skin on the shoulder. It didn’t hurt when Credence ran the pads of his fingers over it softly. There was no need to dress the wound anymore so he discarded the appliances, placing them on the floor by the bed.

Mr. Graves was watching him closely, perched against the headboard. Credence felt the scrutiny on his skin, as if the gaze left a silent trail in its wake. He glanced up surreptitiously, hidden by the curtain of hair; his breath caught at the intensity of those eyes. This was his moment.

“Mr. Graves,” he spoke, softly, as he turned around to face the man. It was a question and a plea that went unanswered with Mr. Graves simply waiting. It was his step to make. He trembled on the precipice, barely breathing with his heart beating madly, and plunged in.

Credence was careful as he moved, not out of reluctance but out of fear of breaking the moment. The sheets rustled as he moved them out of the way and slung one leg over Mr. Graves’s knees, settled his weight over them gingerly. Mr. Graves’s intake of air was grating in the silence of their bedroom.

Credence reveled in this new contact; he slid further, the fabric of Mr. Grave’s pants soft to his bare skin. His knees locked on both side of Mr. Graves’s hips. He allowed his hands to wound around the man’s neck loosely and inched closer so their lips almost touched. Mr. Graves’s eyes locked on his lips and they shared one hot breath.

“Mr. Graves,” he repeated, nothing more than a whisper in the small space in between. His vision narrowed down only to the man’s lips and when, finally, Mr. Graves pressed them to his own, Credence moaned, loud and unashamed. This moment, this kiss, sent fire through his veins and exploded with desire in his heart. It unlocked the want inside of him and dragged it up to the surface. He clung to Mr. Graves, fingers tugging onto long hair and dragged his head backwards and up as Credence rose to loom over him and take and take and _take_.

Hands were on his hips, his waist, his back – everywhere at once, never stilling in their exploration. There was strength in them when Mr. Graves tugged on him until there was no space between them. Fingers dug under his shirt to press to bare skin. The touch sent his nerves alight but Credence’s moan was swallowed by Mr. Graves’s mouth on his, hungry and desperate for more.

It seemed, at that moment, there was no way to satisfy this need. It burned in the most beautiful way.

He was hard and when he pressed down in search of friction he felt the answering hardness on Mr. Graves. He was _wanted._

Mr. Graves’s hands were on his ass then, squeezing and picking up a rhythm – they moved against each other and the pressure started building up in Credence. He gasped, tearing his mouth away to grab air. Lips sucked on his throat, biting down and soothing the ache, leading a trail to his collarbone. Marking him.

Credence didn’t have much experience but he knew, knew he wanted to belong to Mr. Graves. Completely. He was ready to give himself up, every single cell in his body, every part of his soul.

He shuddered and reached for another kiss. Mr. Graves’s stubble was rough under his fingers. His mind was lost, everything else a blur and only one point in focus in the whole world. One feeling taking over everything, terrifying in how overwhelming it was. A wave washing over his senses, drowning. He gasped for breath, but even air wasn’t enough to sustain him. A hunger like nothing else nestled in his heart.

“Mr. Graves.” He repeated over and over again: a whisper, a moan, a groan.

His shirt was tagged off his shoulders but got stuck at the elbows since he wouldn’t let go of Mr. Graves for a single moment.

“Are you sure?”

Credence had never been completely sure in anything but this…this was clear. An unescapable truth that burned him from the inside out. His breath stuttered as he whispered, “Yes.” Over and over again until Mr. Graves growled loudly in his throat and flipped them over. It startled a laugh out of Credence. Elatedly he threw his hands around Mr. Graves’s neck. He felt a smile pressed into his clavicle and it only made the happiness in him grow.

“You are beautiful.” A voice, husky like he had never heard it before, whispered. And this time Credence couldn’t help but believe it. Believe him.

“Mr. Graves…” He muttered, the only word he knew now. But he didn’t need to be articulate to be understood.

A smile turned into a smirk on his skin turned into soft kisses, growing bold and wet, trailing down his chest. He gasped when that mouth settled on his nipple, sucking, biting, making his head spin. His back arched, moving further into the touch unconsciously, and he buried his fingers in Mr. Graves’s hair. He always liked that hair, dark with some grey strands at the temples – he dreamed about pressing his thumbs to them before a kiss. He could do that now. He could do anything now.

For the moment he just gripped onto the longer tresses and allowed himself _feel_. Mr. Graves’s mouth painted a path down his chest, to his stomach and…

“Lower,” he begged.

Mr. Graves chuckled and complied. Slowly, so slowly, he tugged Credence’s pants down and took Credence in his mouth. Credence’s moan filled the room – his mind was in no way innocent, but his body…His body had never experienced such intimacy before, and with that such intensity. He fought to stay on the edge of pleasure and not to trip over it. A current ran under his skin – pleasure like he had not known before.

Words spilled from his mouth, mumbled things at the top of his consciousness, all of them centered around Mr. Graves. He groaned disappointedly when Mr. Graves pulled off. The man’s smirk was vicious but his hands stroked Credence’s thighs tenderly. Shivers rose in their wake.

“Alright?” Mr. Graves asked.

It seemed silly, he was kneeling between Credence’s legs, eyes lasciviously sliding over Credence’s naked body and still asking that question.

Credence smiled at him and replied, “I want to be yours.”

“You already are.” The answer was immediate and uncompromising. A point pressed with a kiss to his bony knee.

“Yes,” Credence agreed after a pause. “But I want this too.”

Mr. Graves held his gaze for a long moment but then nodded and jumped off the bed. Credence perched on his elbows to see where he was going. A quick search of a bottom drawer turned up a condom and a lube and Mr. Graves grinned at him triumphantly and hastily pulled his own clothes off. As he climbed back on the bed, Credence eyed his figure. He had a truly beautiful body: with scars decorating lean muscles.

Hands, strong but gentle, spread Credence’s legs and Mr. Graves settled himself over him, starting up with kisses once again. Credence’s eyelids fluttered close as their lips brushed and their bodies pressed together, no barrier between them this time. There would be no barriers between them since this moment onward.

Mr. Graves worked carefully to prepare him, pressing kisses to his mouth when it got too much, murmuring reassurances and compliments into his ear.

“Yes,” Credence breathed out. And then, “Please.”

And Mr. Graves was lifting his thighs with his hands and kissing him deeply and pressing into him. Credence squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and Mr. Graves peppered his eyelids with small kisses and muttered reassurances.

“It’s good,” Credence promised even though his voice was so thin it didn’t sound very convincing. He bit his lip and met Mr. Graves’s eyes, hoping his gaze could translate what his words couldn’t. He wanted this. He needed this. “Please.”

Mr. Graves started moving, slow shallow thrusts at first, allowing Credence to adjust and then…

“Ah!”

A shock tore through his body, vicious in its power. It set his nerves on fire.

There was no thought after that, just the movement and the pleasure, a fever blazing through his blood. A connection. In the most intimate way possible. He could feel Mr. Graves inside of him, taking pleasure from his body and giving one in return. It was beautiful. Pure ecstasy.

Credence gripped onto Mr. Graves, digging his fingers in the man’s shoulders, holding on for dear life. He never wanted to let go. This connection, in mind and in body. Bliss.

“Mr. Graves.” Again, this name he repeated, reverent and utterly happy.

“Credence.” A reply breathed into his mouth. “My beautiful Credence.”

And as the pleasure built into a crescendo, he believed. He believed.

 

* * *

 

Credence jerked his shoulder sleepily – something was tickling his skin. It traveled up his neck and back to the shoulder blade, feathery light and soft. He jerked again and then startled at the sound of quiet laughter. He remembered then – the night and the reason he was lying in bed with no stich of clothing between him and the cotton sheets and Mr. Graves’s body, just as naked at his back. A kiss, more firm this time, was pressed to his spine, followed by teeth, scraping playfully. Credence squirmed as his excitement reared up.

“Good morning,” Mr. Graves greeted and sucked a bruise into pale skin. It left a delicious mark, one more to add to the collection. They were a claim, gentle and pleasurable; they were a reminder, sweet memory of home.

Credence shivered when Mr. Graves’s tongue swept over his scars – there was a scattering of them all over his back, shallow cuts and scrapes that were but smallest traces of the abuse.

“Credence?” Mr. Graves rasped, sensing the change in the mood.

Credence pushed his face into the pillow for a moment, taking a second to steady himself. He breathed into the fabric, centering his thoughts on a more enjoyable subject.  

“I’m fine,” he promised and turned on his back. He would never be alright if he allowed the past to haunt him like that. He had a future now, a new home and a new family. He knew now…

Credence never thought he would ever experience love like this. He had loved, though nothing in the past could ever compare to the gravity of feeling he had for Mr. Graves. Little crushes on handsome young men, celebrities and politicians, the more unattainable the better so that Ma would never suspect. Somehow, she always knew what he was thinking. Escaping her attentive eyes was impossible. She would not control him anymore. She would not hurt him anymore. He took care of that, defeated his demons and now it was time to lay them to rest. And Mr. Graves made sure no one else could ever hurt Credence in the future. Credence wished, not for the first time, that he was able to repay that.

He pressed his fingers to the new mark on Mr. Graves’s shoulder. The scar was small, just a circle of raised tissue, slightly rough to the touch. A point where the bullet had hit, where Mr. Graves’s blood had flowed, where his life might have been taken from. It scared him, even imagining losing Mr. Graves. He did not want to think about that but the picture rose in his mind, of blood and flesh and unseeing brown eyes. Even a shade of such grief was unbearable but it was weighted down by something else. By rage.

“Did you kill them?” He lifted his eyes to watch Mr. Graves, catching the other man in his gaze. Hands at his side stilled and a startled expression froze on Mr. Graves’s face.

“Those who hurt you. Did you kill them?”

“Not all of them,” Mr. Graves replied after a long stretch of silence. He was watching Credence like he tried to figure him out, cautiously. “Why?”

Credence scraped a nail over the scar. Frowned. “They injured you. Brought you pain.” He let go of the bullet wound to take Mr. Graves’s hand; he remembered gripping it on the night Mr. Graves got shot, an anchor to help get through the pain. “’They could have killed you.” His voice broke. Mr. Graves leaned in to kiss his distress away, to reassure.  

“We took care of them.”

“So you killed them?” Credence’s voice reached an urgency when he insisted on echoing his own words.

“Two of them escaped.” Mr. Graves narrowed his eyes. “We managed to get the others.”

“Will go you after them?”

“Do you want it?” Mr. Graves asked instead.

Credence took a moment to study his own thoughts. Did he? Did he want those people to die? For hurting Mr. Graves. So that others would think twice before trying something like that.

“Yes.”

“My people are chasing them down.”

“Good.” Credence nodded with complete certainty. He continue softly. “I do not want you to get hurt.”

“I do not want you to get hurt either.” Mr. Graves muttered. He relaxed and kissed Credence. “You are precious.”

There was no more doubt.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, comments are love, life, inspiration and motivation!:D Let me know what you think here and you can bug me about this AU or everything Gradence on tumblr: mysteryismyart
> 
> P.S. Half-way done with the next story; it will be more about darkness than romance though!


End file.
